On August

I went home Northward

The summer sun behind me

My back, momiji

Chop me down and count my rings

The bliss I've felt, the times I've cried,

Mistakes I've made, learned and retried

The friends I've met, the girls I've liked,

Misjudgements, good calls, and goodbyes

We're multitudes, oceans of time

the past is inside, not behind

Where lie my failures at my core

You see but shipwrecks to explore

The kid that cried, the boy that wished,

the teen who cared, the man who dreamed

live all today in my heart free

They feel your love when you love me

Brickies and Pixies

 Last week I had an interesting conversation with a Spanish Philology major. He defended that people think in words. He said we build our concepts using the words that are taught to us as bricks, and then process the information explaining it with words. I told him I always thought we built abstract concepts, ideas and reasonings over time and then, when we try to express them, we figure out a way to make them sort of fit in a limited amount of pixels called words. If you're good at it, the point sort of gets through in 4K quality. If you suck at it however (like I do), not only is the process a pain but also the point often gets lost in translation in TS screener 240p.

I wonder what that means in terms of personality. I guess pixel-word guys like me are better at learning new languages or complicated ideas, maybe dreamier? And brick-word guys are better at communicating, teaching and interacting with other people, maybe more down to Earth.

I guess for us pixies, the answer to where is my mind is probably "on the clouds".

An odd hill to die on

I guess with time I've realized being right is not just about stating facts, but rather about which truths one chooses to defend and which truths one deems not worth defending. Using facts and logic instead of emotional reactions to process information and being open to fair criticism make one a reasonable person, sure, but once one is there, one needs to understand that, as widespread as it is, defending facts that support one's ideology and shutting up when facts come against the grain (even if internally you know them true) is hypocritical at best and at worst downright shitty. To be a decent person, not only is it required to be reasonable (people that cannot be reasoned with can never be decent. Being good requires understanding, otherwise it's just fanaticism, which however misguided may even end up helping some people incidentally!¹) but also one has to choose carefully how they challenge a given opinion, because focusing on contesting specific contradictions that don't affect its general validity can give the impression that one is against the whole idea or even the principles behind it.

So I always check now. Even if what I'm going to say, while controversial, is technically right, I look around to see whether it's worth the hassle. And around most people, it almost never is.

I hope this answers your question as to why I deleted my Twitter account.

¹: Looking at you, religion, you crazy fuck.

Off the hook

 

On circumstance

Perhaps the storm might flood your eyes and ears

and then the wind might knock you off your shoes

and waves, block with their salt your cogs and gears

and lightning strikes could split your mast in two.

Your men might all just fall into the ocean

their final rest, the bottom of the sea

the magazine catch fire, and the explosion,

teach burning chunks of hope how to fly free.

Perhaps it'd seem that God is out to get you

with only a piece of wood to call your own...

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Well then, become its rudder, helm and engine!

Get on it, sail that little plank back home.

P

El ahora viste negro

y va descalzo por ahí,

tiene arena en los bolsillos

y una foto de París.

La sonrisa ladeada,

y en la mente siempre juegos

de ladrones y castillos

y estirados caballeros.

 El ahora tiene pinta

de no haber desayunado,

de tomarse muy en serio

los trocitos del helado,

pompas, libros, chocolate,

y un abrigo afeminado,

(y los juegos de palabras,

como el Scrabble o el Ahorcado).

Al ahora no le importan

los bigotes ni los puros,

ni el marido de mengana,

o que fulano se haga el duro.

Vive en mundos submarinos,
en ventañas empanadas,
en las ruedas de una bici
y en las patas de la cama.

Y se enfada como un niño
que creía que un mastín
no era un bicharraco enorme
sino un perro chiquitín.

Si se mueve con cuidado
es para nunca molestar
a los zumos (concentrados)
y a las tablas de planchar.

Y hace puzzles de cabeza,
inventa historias (¡seis o siete!)
y da besos muy bonitos
y gruñidos de juguete.

Si algún día te lo encuentras,
no lo asustes, no le digas
que te escuche, que te enseñe,
o que te rasque la barriga.

Al ahora no le gusta
que le enseñen a vivir.
Tiene juegos, y castillos
y una foto de París.